


Honey? There goes the doorbell

by Pomodoridori



Series: Dog and Rat [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, completely unedited mess for discord lmap, handjobs, hospital sex??? but not in a weird way, i cant fucking believe i wrote this lmaoooo, mild asphixiation, some parts of the sex are pretty awkward lmao, uhhh mild compliment kink? no idea what to call it sorry haha, uhhhh almost canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 11:19:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14768565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomodoridori/pseuds/Pomodoridori
Summary: Kimblee makes some questionable decisions. Miles enjoys himself more than he was expecting (and makes questionable decisions too).





	Honey? There goes the doorbell

**Author's Note:**

> completely unedited, so if you notice spelling errors, please let me know. solf and miles still fucking hate each other, btw

It was four in the morning and some change by the time the train had rolled into the station at Briggs.  Kimblee was hardly conscious-- his head was lolling and his eyes kept fluttering shut, and his suit was thoroughly bloodied-- but he still startled when he felt rough large hands grab him.  Kimblee’s survival instincts flared, and he flailed, but was far too weak from blood loss and trauma to do much except weakly smack whoever it was across the face. They grunted, and the world flickered briefly back into focus.  Kimblee saw an angry Ishvalan face floating above his face for a moment like some ghost, but his eyes lost focus again and all he could see were the lights. He groaned.

“Get him on a stretcher,” someone said, loudly, “And don’t remove the post.”

Kimblee frowned at the bright lights overhead and blacked out once they started to sway.

\---

Kimblee woke confused and alone to a dark room and blankets tucked suffocatingly tight under his chin.   _ Where am I?  _ he thought.  Kimblee blinked his eyes a few times to clear them, and then tried to sit up, but then his belly flared into incredible pain and he spent the next few minutes pinned to the mattress.

When the pain ebbed away into a dull ache Kimblee was left with trembling muscles and the faint urge to be sick.  Instead of puking, though, Kimblee put a hand to his belly, trying to figure out what exactly happened. His memory was fuzzy, and he felt disconnected, soft, and dull.

Then it clicked.   _ The train.  Scar. ...I must be at some hospital. _  Kimblee eyed the I.V. stand next to his bed.  The room was otherwise bare, except for what was maybe a chair nestled in the dark shadows of the room.

Kimblee felt the sudden urge to sleep, but there was something he knew he had to check first. 

Slowly, carefully, he clenched his stomach, trying to expel the philosopher’s stone inside.  But his belly wasn’t responding properly, and when it did finally move the wound just below it  _ screamed _ .  Kimblee nearly did too.  After that, he was too exhausted from the pain to try again.   _ I’ll have to confirm it later, then. _  Kimblee closed his eyes.

\---

The next time Kimblee woke it was with a much clearer head and a throbbing stomach.  Also, he had a visitor. He looked over at the man-- an Ishvalan with glasses, tall, proud, and somehow familiar, though Kimblee couldn’t recall where he’d met him before.  Kimblee fought the urge to frown. He  _ never _ forgot a face, and  _ this  _ was annoying.

“I am Major Miles, sir.” the man said.  His voice was deep and gravely. “General Armstrong wants to know what exactly happened last night.”

_ Armstrong, huh? Haven’t seen her in a while.   _ Kimblee’s eyes narrowed, and then he looked over at Miles balefully.  “Tell me what you know, first, so that I don’t waste time.”

Something angry flickered across the major’s face before it settled, and Miles crossed his arms.  “Yes. We know you were hunting Scar. And that you fought him on the train.”

Kimblee nodded, silent, waiting for Miles to continue.

After a moment’s pause, and an annoyed huff from Miles, the major continued.  “...we tracked where Scar likely jumped ship, but we’ve had no luck tracing him.  We believe he escaped into the mountains.”

“I see.”

Major Miles continued looking at him expectantly.

Kimblee blinked.  “Ah. The train.”

“Yes.”

Kimblee shrugged, and then regretted it when his wound gave a sharp twang of protest.  With a barely suppressed grimace, Kimblee continued. “I tracked Scar and his accomplice to the train.  Scar confronted me and I-- lost-- our little battle.”

“Accomplice?”  Miles stepped a little closer to Kimblee’s bed.

“Yes.  I haven’t yet identified who it was, yet, but I saw his face.  His identity doesn’t matter, since I’m going to kill them both anyway.”

Miles frowned, and Kimblee could see the obvious revulsion on his face.  “It would be wise to identify him first, in case he’s important. Besides, Briggs is taking over this operation now-- you’re in no condition to continue.”

Kimblee let his lips pull back into a slight snarl, and said icily,  “This job was assigned to  _ me _ .  I will not let--”

Miles cut him off by putting a heavy hand over his mouth.  Kimblee was tempted to bite the meaty flesh of his palm through his gloves, but refrained.  He wanted to hear what Miles was going to say.

The Ishvalan leaned close, breath warm on Kimblee’s face.  Kimblee could see his own face reflected back at him in the man’s glasses and grinned.  It changed nothing but put crinkles by the sides of his eyes.

“Don’t forget,” Miles rumbled, deep and resonating and awfully  _ close _ , “that you are under the hospitality of Briggs, now.  The rule here is the survival of the fittest. It wouldn’t take more than a little  _ accident _ to kill you in your condition, you know.”

_ Oh. _ Kimblee’s eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat.  A little shiver of arousal ran through him, and, experimentally, Kimblee swiped his tongue against the palm of Mile’s glove. Miles frowned, but did not pull his hand away.

Kimblee felt another little thrill of lust, and then did it again, except with a tiny bit of scraping from his teeth.  Mile’s hand was warm and his glove tasted vaguely like iron, and a little of gun oil.  _ No surprise, since he’s a soldier, _ Kimblee thought.   _ Now, how will he--? _

Miles pulled his hand back from Kimblee’s mouth, but kept his face close to Kimblee’s.  “What the hell, Kimblee,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.

Kimblee grinned.  “Not to your liking, huh, Major?”

Miles cocked his head to the side, glasses glinting.  “I didn’t say that. But it  _ is _ rather odd to be propositioned by a man you just threatened to kill.”

Kimblee grunted, horny but unsure of what to say.  He didn’t want to drive Miles off.

Miles stared him down.  Slowly, as if he was struggling against a current (or perhaps his better judgement), Miles leaned down to mouth at Kimblee’s cheek.  “And what if I say no?”

Kimblee shuddered at the close contact.  “Then I suppose you leave, and I’ll sit here feeling like an idiot.”

“Hm,” Miles said, giving Kimblee a little lick.  “I don’t want to fuck a man who’s hospitalized, much less a mass murderer.”

Kimblee frowned.  “You’re--”

“...but I might just give him a handjob.”  With that, Kimblee felt a hand go skimming over his crotch.  He swallowed.

Miles paused for a moment, considering, palming Kimblee through the hospital blankets and the gown.  Kimblee groaned, breathily, and with effort withdrew his arms from under the blankets. He draped one cautiously over the major’s back and pushed him closer so Kimblee could steal a kiss.  Miles stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed into it. His mouth tasted like smoke and metal and ash.  _ Hm, interesting. _  Kimblee was positive that his mouth tasted pretty bad.  It’d been over a day since he’d last brushed his teeth, after all.  Miles didn’t seem to mind, though.

Soon, though, Miles pulled back, putting his hand back on Kimblee’s crotch and pressing in a little.  Kimblee’s frustrated huff caught in his throat and he tried to thrust up into Miles’s palm, only for his stomach to give a warning pang.  He winced and lowered his hips back down.

Miles didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care, and grinned.  “You’re eager, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been in prison for six years, of course I’m eager,”  Kimblee snapped, almost embarrassed and definitely irritated by the pain. 

“Didn’t have sex at all, huh?”

“I couldn’t even touch myself.”

Miles gave a low whistle. “Damn.”

Kimblee glowered for a moment, and then reached up to remove Miles’s glasses.  The man pulled back and gave Kimblee’s crotch an almost painful squeeze. “Leave them,” Miles growled in a voice that made Kimblee’s hair stand on end.

Kimblee didn’t bother to respond, instead reaching around to fiddle with Miles’s hair.

The tense moment passed, and then Miles was pulling down the hospital blankets, and reaching up his hospital gown to grip at Kimblee’s dick.  Kimblee moaned, trying (and failing) to rock his hips up into the major’s fist. Miles didn’t move his hand.

“Ugh,  _ please _ ,” Kimblee said, a note of urgency in his voice.   _ Gods, but it’s been so long. _

Miles obliged, pumping gently up and down a few times.  Kimblee had the feeling that if they knew each other he wouldn’t have move his hand at all.

“You can grip a little harder, you know,” Kimblee said, “I like it rough.”

Miles tightened his grip a little, just on this side of painful.

“Oh  _ fuck _ , yeah, like that.”

Suddenly, Miles put his left knee on the side of the bed and swung his right leg over Kimblee, straddling him.

“Don’t-- sit-- on me,” Kimblee growled, worried about his wound.

“I’m not stupid,” Miles groused, giving Kimblee’s cock a particularly vicious tug.  

“Do that again,” Kimblee ordered, only for Miles to ignore him, fiddling with the button on his pants one-handedly.

Kimblee twitched in annoyance as Miles’s hand loosened on his dick, distracted by trying to get his own trousers open.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Kimblee huffed impatiently, pulling his hand from Miles’s hair to help him unbutton.  Miles grumbled something at him, and finally managed to get his cock out.

Kimblee eyed it.   _ If I weren’t injured….hmm.  _ He licked his lips.

If Miles noticed Kimblee’s expression, he ignored it in favor of wrapping his large hand around both their cocks and giving a few pumps.

“Mm,” Kimblee grunted.

Silently, Miles kept pumping their cocks, gazing steadily at his own hand.  Kimblee huffed in annoyance. “Look at me, at least.” 

Miles ignored him again, and Kimblee felt a spark of annoyance alongside the pleasure.  “I said--”

“Ask nicely.”  Miles’s voice was rougher than before, probably from impending orgasm.

“I--  _ please. _ ”

“Good boy,” Miles looked at him, and something clenched in Kimblee’s belly.   _ Call me that again, _ Kimblee thought wildly.

Then Miles was reaching forward with his other hand to caress the side of his face, and Kimblee was about to complain before the man suddenly clamped his hand down across his throat.  Kimblee shivered, and then Miles was tugging hard at his dick, and pressing down on his throat, and Solf tried to moan but it came out all squeaky and breathy and weak. Miles grinned, predatory.

Too soon Solf was cumming, writhing in white-hot pleasure.  Miles released the hand on his throat, and Kimblee gasped for air while Miles came across his belly.

Still breathing hard, Miles stood, taking care not to jab Kimblee’s wound.  Solf was still lying there panting on the bed.

Miles could see a dark ring of bruises forming around Kimblee’s neck.  He smirked and turned to the small sink in the corner to wash his hands.  Miles used a paper towel to wipe off his dick, and grabbed a few more for Kimblee.  When he turned back around he saw that Kimblee was watching him with dark intelligent eyes.  Miles sighed, and gave Kimblee the paper towels. “Clean yourself up. I’ve got to go make my report.”

Kimblee looked offended.

As Miles strode through the door he heard Kimblee’s annoyed, “Bastard! You got my bandages covered in--” 

Miles grinned to himself.  


End file.
